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@hannahrenner

Can I take this as a personal invitation? Hi! I’m Lydia. We wouldn’t want you to go nuts on account of limited social interaction, now, would we.

Meet Goya! My villain. He’s a nobleman from a minor house who has gained a great deal of power through doing what no one else would dare. His country recently went through a revolution instigated by the Loki (a being of great power with a tendency to cause chaos); Goya led the failed attempt to crush it. As far as background, he just returned from hunting an Otherworldly Creature called the Nim. He did not catch the Nim, but the Loki had turned the Wind (counselor of the king and servant to the Dragon Ray, who is essentially a god) into a wolf, which is what Goya wound up killing. Goya can come across as nice at first, but he is primarily a hunter, meaning he is often ruthless and cruel and he despises weakness.

I think he’s going to enjoy this.

 

Goya

“The Wind is gone,” Goya said. “If ever there was a time to strike, it is now.”

“How can you know that?” one of the other nobles demanded. “Where has the Wind gone?”

Goya turned in a slow circle, surveying the nobility who ringed the perimeter of the room. “My own hand thrust the spear that gave the mortal wound!” he cried, baring his teeth in a fierce smile. “It will be a long time before Eagle shows his face here.”

Some among the men and women murmured at this. One, an older man, rose slowly to his feet and challenged.

“Maybe so, maybe so,” Lord Kendle said, voice firm despite his age. “Yet you forget, Goya, that once already the young king has defeated our armies, and that was without the Wind’s help. You have forgotten the Loki.”

“Ha!” Goya scoffed, his grey eyes flashing. “The Loki. Who among you would listen to her council?”

There was a hesitant shaking of heads.

“Sebastian – our ‘king’ – knows that many far wiser than he do not deign to listen to Rhianna. Already, she holds less weight than before. This business with the Nim will be the last straw.” Goya paused, let his words sink in, before continuing softly.

“Lords – ladies – Sebastian is not the ruler this country needs. Under my rule, Bai will be great again; a nation to be feared. But if we do not strike now, before Sebastian is firmly established, we may never have another chance. Will anyone stand with me?”

Slowly, one by one, the nobility got to their feet. At last, all stood, united in their resolve. Goya smiled to himself as he watched.

Sebastian would not be king much longer.

 

Goya’s boots clicked against the gleaming marble floor, the only sound in the still hallways. Wearily, he ran a hand through his shaggy black hair and smiled to himself. What a hunt that had been! True, the Nim had escaped him, but to have brought down one of the Winds? And now he would hunt a far greater prey: a kingdom.

Looking up, Goya found that he had reached the door to his study. Only, he had not, for the door before him was like none that he had ever seen. It was of dark grey metal, with no seam to show where – or whether—it ought to open. When he touched it, it vanished as if it had never been, revealing a mossy hedge with a narrow opening.

Perhaps Goya could have walked away right then, and none of what followed would ever have happened. Or perhaps Goya was fated to see this world and to meet its challenges, and the door was only the most obvious of many entrances. It matters little, for the door presented an invitation and a challenge, and Goya was not a man to leave such a thing unanswered.

He walked through the opening.